Return to the Citadel
by Mitslits
Summary: A series of one-shots about life in the Citadel.
1. Hope and Expectation

Furiosa has barely woken when she is accosted by the Dag, slightly smug grin on her face.

"He's back", she tells her simply.

Furiosa doesn't know whether or not she is surprised by this, doesn't know whether or not she expected him to come back. Hope and expectation are two different things after all.

She prepares for the day as quickly as she can, but it is not fast enough. She is just cinching the harness for her prosthesis, which she has rebuilt to be better than it was previously, when she hears a quiet, dry cough in her doorway. He looks exactly the same, she thinks, despite the months that have rolled by since they've last seen each other. Perhaps his face is slightly more lined with worry, his eyes years older than they should be, but the same could probably be said for her as well.

It doesn't take her long to cross over to him. She greets him in the way that is so familiar to her, forgetting that it is not so for him. Her hand reaches up to grasp the back of his neck and she stretches up to press her forehead against his.

He stiffens for a moment, unused to the intimate contact. Seconds later he relaxes into it, his own hand curling around the back of her neck, head bending so she can stand flat-footed again. They stand like that for much longer than is customary, taking comfort in the presence of the other.

"There are rumors about you", Furiosa says, pulling away and striding purposefully around her room, setting things into their proper places.

Max tracks her with his eyes, shrugging one shoulder. He knows he has a reputation. It doesn't mean he cares.

"They say you never return to a place once you've been there", she says slyly, watching him from the corner of her eye.

The ghost of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and he relaxes against the doorframe, crossing his arms. "Can't believe everything you hear."

Furiosa turns to him, mirroring his own pose, smirking. "No", she says, "I suppose you can't."


	2. Nightmare Fuel

Max is having nightmares again. Furiosa doesn't know, but she suspects. She also suspects they have never truly gone away.

She notices the dark circles under his eyes, a mark showing how little he sleeps, how restless the sleep he gets is. She remembers the time when she looked the same. For months after the explosion that took her arm she would wake in the darkness, mouth gaping open in a silent scream, sure she was being engulfed by flame once again. But she never was and the nightmares gradually faded away until she didn't have them anymore, the only sign of the accident her metal prosthesis.

She has no way of knowing that just being near her has lessened the nightmares, the visions of those Max didn't manage to save. Because Furiosa is an outlier. He saved her. He watched her dying, but brought her back, a new experience in his twisted world. Still, the old fear eats at him and sometimes his dreams turn dark.

 _She is lying there, his ears filled with that desperate groaning as her lungs pulled for air they couldn't hold. He stabs the knife into her side and she sucks in oxygen. Then something within him snaps and he tugs the knife out only to drive it into her, again and again. Because he is Max the Mad and he hears the voices of the dead. The voices of those he couldn't save. He couldn't save them. He can't save her. He can't save anyone. She has to die. He has to kill her._

He startles awake, tugs his jacket closer around himself, and spends the rest of the night staring at the wall opposite, reminding himself that Furiosa is alive.

Furiosa notices Max spending more and more time around her, always with a half-panicked look in his eyes, as if he's afraid she will disappear if he lets her out of his sight. She doesn't think he wants her to see this and she pretends she doesn't, going about her business as usual.

One night, as he turns to leave her room, she makes a decision. "Stay with me", she says, looking over at him. Her face is perfectly neutral.

Max stares at her for a moment, saying nothing. He walks to the door and she thinks he is going to leave, but he only pushes it closed. He toes off his boots and shrugs out of his jacket, leaving them in a neat pile by the side of the bed before sliding under the covers.

Furiosa joins him and they lay with their backs to each other.

"Thank you." It is quiet, barely a whisper, but Furiosa hears it.

She doesn't reply, simply closes her eyes and drifts off to sleep as Max does the same.

Sometime during the night they roll onto their backs, arms pressed against each other. Max doesn't wake from nightmares.


	3. Universal Donor

The Dag has her child when the sun is at its highest point. The former wives gather around her, offering their silent support. They have all seen a birthing before and hardly wince at the screams that are wrested from the Dag's throat.

Furiosa does not approach her like the others. She stands in the corner and watches everything with the air of one who feels out of place. She _is_ out of place. She belongs with gears, and metal, and war rigs, not children. She does not belong, yet she remains.

Something is wrong. Furiosa can tell by the uneasy set of Cheedo's shoulders as she remains bent over the Dag even after her child has already been handed off to Capable. The red-haired woman carefully cleans the newborn, standing and walking back a few paces to give the ailing mother room to breathe.

"What is it?" Furiosa asks, taking a half-step forwards.

Toast turns to her when Cheedo doesn't answer. "She's losing too much blood. She'll die."

Furiosa only hesitates a moment. "We'll need needles. And a tube", she says, spinning on her heel and walking quickly out of the room.

A silent communication passes between Toast and Cheedo and Toast stands, heading to the underground area where such things are kept.

Ever since they have taken to sharing a bed Max has returned to spending more time on his own, no longer feeling the strange need to stay by Furiosa's side. She is relieved he is healing, but right now she curses the idea that has stolen him away. Every moment she spends searching for him is blood spilling out of one of the few friends she can say she has.

She finds him with a group of War Boys, sitting silent as they swap war stories of the greatest men they have witnessed. He turns to look at her when she approaches, brows lowering as he senses the air of urgency about her.

"I need your blood", Furiosa says.

Without further prompting, Max stands and nods. He follows her to the Dag's room, taking the situation in at a glance.

Toast is waiting with the needles and he takes them from her, inserting one into his own arm, checking the tube to make sure it is secure. A small stream of blood trickles out of the Dag's arm as he jabs the second needle into her and soon his blood is flowing into her veins.

Cheedo has done what she can to heal the new mother, but there is little they can do but wait and see if a miracle will happen.

Watching, Furiosa feels a strange stirring in her mind, as if this has happened before. A slight prick, as if of a needle, tugs at the crease of her arm and she rubs a hand over it absentmindedly, pushing the thoughts away. They are meaningless to her.

It seems to take hours before the Dag's eyes flutter open and her pulse grows stronger. Max refuses to take out the needle until a few more minutes have passed and the Dag can sit up on her own. Her baby, a daughter, is given to her and Toast sets about cleaning the needles.

Max steps out in the hallway, no longer necessary.

Furiosa follows him. "Thank you", she says.

"Nothing to thank me for", he replies.


	4. Human, Ever and Always

Furiosa avoids the Dag now that she has had her child. Max notices.

The Dag has named her daughter Angharad. The former wives agree that it is the only thing she could be named and spend as much of their time as they can with the quickly growing newborn.

Furiosa is the only one of them who stays away.

The Dag confronts her one day, Angharad cradled in her arms. "My daughter can have a good life. I want you to be a part of it, you who helped create that possibility", she says.

"I don't want to be part of it", Furiosa says coldly, turning away.

"But-" the Dag protests, stepping forwards, one hand reaching for her.

"I said I don't want to be a part of it", Furiosa snaps, spinning around and pushing her outstretched hand away. She hesitates a second, uncertainty in her eyes as they sweep over the small bundle the Dag cradles so tenderly in her arms. Then she steps back a pace before turning and walking away, refusing to look back.

Max watches it silently and, when Furiosa leaves, glances over at the Dag.

She gives him a slight nod before making her way back to her rooms.

Max finds Furiosa sitting on a step in a darkened hallway, staring at nothing. He sits beside her, eyes fixed on the distant horizon that can be seen through the small window at the end of the hall.

"How is she?" Furiosa asks after a moment has passed.

"Been through worse. She'll survive", Max assures her, eyes still fixed on the window.

They lapse back into silence until Furiosa's head falls. "I had one, once", she says, voice quiet.

Max looks over, but her gaze is focused only on her lap.

"A daughter. Like Angharad. The Immortan killed her. He did that to all his daughters. Didn't want them to become another man's property. She was three months old." Her hand curls into a fist at the words and she grinds her teeth together. It is suddenly harder to breathe.

She doesn't say anything more. She doesn't have to.

Max reaches out and takes her hand, offering a simple form of comfort. "That won't happen to her."

Her fingers tighten around his.

A week later, Furiosa takes Angharad in her arms.


	5. Voices of the Dead

She is fourteen and curling up next to her mother as the desert sun slowly sinks below the horizon. They hear the distant rumble of wheels, but the sound is not unfamiliar and they pay it little attention. Only hours later, they will regret this.

Furiosa wakes to the sound of revving engines, much closer now than they were before. She is frozen in horror as a caravan of vehicles, ghost men swarming over them, encircles her and her mother. Her mother jumps to her feet, pushing Furiosa behind her as a large man with a horrifying mask stalks over to them.

His eyes linger on them for only a few seconds before he turns away. "Take the girl. Kill the woman."

She shrieks as some of the ghost men tear her away from her mother, arms and legs flailing wildly as she strikes out. One of the men curses as her nails rake over his face and his grip loosens, but it is far from enough to allow her escape. A crowd of the men gather around her mother and the last she sees of her is a panicked face, hands clawing the air as they try to reach her daughter.

The last she hears of her is a scream. Then her world is only the ghost men and the rumble of engines, the desert sands whipping past them as they head towards a place Furiosa will never consider home.

She is fifteen and watching her belly swell as the baby the Immortan has put in it grows. She pushes her child into the world through pain, and blood, and sweat and, when it is finally placed in her arms, feels that she can survive.

Three months later the Immortan seizes it from her, forces her to watch as he smashes its head against the rocks. This is what happens, he warns her, when she gives him daughters. He gives her the corpse to bury.

She digs the grave out with her hands, tears turning the dirt to mud as she lays the body (too small, far too small) in the shallow hole.

It is the last time she cries.

She is seventeen and attempting to escape a life she never wanted to lead.

The Immortan sends out the War Boys to retrieve her with strict orders not to see her injured. The sight of them in the rearview mirror of the car she has stolen makes her next choice an easy one.

Furiosa twists the wheel sharply, driving the car up the side of a cliff. It flips wildly and she closes her eyes, waits for death to claim her. Seconds later her world is fire.

When she next wakes, she doesn't have an arm.

She is eighteen and no longer one of the Immortan's wives. Three miscarriages have proven her ill-suited to be a Breeder. The Immortan will never know that thrice Furiosa stole a tube meant for a bloodbag and turned her own baby to blood.

She has proven herself useful in other areas. The mechanics have come to know her as she picked over their spare parts, forming them into an arm to replace the one she has lost. She knows her way around a vehicle.

It is easy to lose herself in gears and guzzoline.

She is twenty and watching as the Immortan builds a collection of young girls, so much like herself. She finds excuses to know them, earning her way into their hearts and their heads, filling their minds with stories of the Green Place she once knew, one where there were Many Mothers.

With hope shining in their eyes they listen to the strange woman with no hair and a metal arm, unaware that they have taken her place.

As the months wear on, their hope dulls.

She is twenty three and being given her own War Rig. She found the wreckage, hauled it back to the Citadel, reassembled it piece by piece. She knows every inch of the machine. She knows how to override the kill switch. She knows about the bone knife hidden in the gearshift. She knows about the secret hold she has built to help the young girls who seem younger with each passing day.

The War Rig is hers. Her planning begins.

She is twenty seven and watching one of the young girls emerge as the Immortan's favorite.

Her heart twists in sympathy.

She is thirty and her plans are finished. She looks for an opportunity to tell the wives, but they are jealously guarded and she is left frustrated at every turn.

*  
She is thirty three and finally gets to the wives. She tells them of the secret hold in her War Rig. She reminds them of the Green Place.

They are only too eager to go.

She is thirty four and knows they can wait no longer. She has watched the favorite's stomach swell as hers once did and heard her words.

'We are not things.'

She steals them from under the Immortan's nose and stamps down the thrills of satisfaction that run through her. They are not away yet.

She is thirty four, twenty years gone from the last time she has seen the Green Place. She remembers the way perfectly.


	6. Bath

When Capable tells Max he can take a bath he realizes he cannot remember the last time he felt clean. She tells him that the Immortan's private chambers included a small room in which there was a shallow pool of water.

He'd had small channels carved out of the rock to filter water in and out, holding the wives' beauty to a higher standard than that of the unwashed Wretched. They'd been required to bathe every fortnight.

Max makes his way to the chamber, heading for the room. He feels the years of dirt and grime settled on his skin and will be glad for the chance to get it off. It is only now, with the prospect of being clean, that he realizes how filthy he is. Spit-baths have done little more than clear off loose grains of sand and leave him feeling dirtier than when he started.

He pushes aside the canvas cloth concealing the pool and freezes.

Furiosa sits in the water, eyes closed, head resting against the lip of the pool. Her head is the only thing above the surface of the water.

Unprepared for this eventuality, Max remains in the doorway.

Slowly, Furiosa half-opens one of her eyes. "The water works better when you're in it", she says. If she is surprised to find him standing there she doesn't show it.

Max lets the canvas fall back into place and moves into the room. Just as he does every night, he toes off his shoes and shrugs out of his jacket. The rest of his clothes follow and he leaves them heaped next to Furiosa's as he slips into the water.

It feels just as good as he expects it to. His nails scrape at the skin on his arms and legs, tearing away years of grime and sand. He marvels at how clean he looks, can't remember when he last looked like this.

Suddenly Furiosa is in front of him. He raises an eyebrow, a silent question.

"Turn around", she says.

He does.

Her hands run over his back, clearing away the filth he couldn't reach. She is more gentle with him than he was with himself and he barely feels her nails as they scrape the dirt away. "Who told you this was here?" she asks.

"Capable."

She doesn't respond, just runs her eyes over his back, searching for spots she's missed. When she doesn't find anything she moves away from him, climbing out of the pool and heading for her clothes.

Max remains in the water, unwilling to leave just yet.

Furiosa's eyes stray to the back of his head as she tugs her shirt on. She reminds herself to thank Capable later.


	7. Release

Max and Furiosa lie in the bed they share, neither of them asleep. Ever since they bathed together their nights have been silent, but not the comfortable silence it used to be. Something has shifted and they both know it.

They lie on their backs, eyes straying to each other occasionally, never at the same time. Then it is the same time and they stare at each other, shifting until they are lying on their sides.

Before Furiosa knows what is happening Max's lips are on hers, his hands cupping the sides of her face, holding her to him. She presses her body into his until she is lying flush against him, able to feel every part of him. One part of him is especially awake and her hand wanders down to it, palming him through the fabric of his pants.

His tongue swipes across her lips and she parts them for him, feeling him slide inside her mouth.

They break apart after a moment, breathing heavily, eyes shining too bright in the darkness. Their eyes hold each other's until Furiosa leans in to kiss him again. "Lie with me", she whispers against his lips.

He rolls over until he is looming above her, mouth exploring her skin. His lips trace over her jawline, down her throat, teeth scrape gently across her collarbone. His hands work at her shirt, mouth leaving her as he pulls it over her head and drops it to the floor. His hand skims up her side until it reaches her breast, the pad of his thumb running over her nipple, the wet heat of his mouth closely following it.

Furiosa arches up into his touch, breath coming faster now. It has been so long since someone has touched her like this. Max is surprisingly gentle, she thinks. Feather-light touches from a hard man.

Hand still working at her breast, his head moves down, trailing kisses lower. When he reaches the waistband of her pants he hooks his fingers in, starts to tug them down, looks up at her, and-

And Furiosa's eyes fly open. The night is dark and she finds herself staring at the ceiling, lying on her back.

Max lies peacefully beside her, back turned to her.

She bites back a sigh. This is nothing, she tells herself. She will simply go back to sleep.

Ten minutes later she is still awake, the warmth in her core and between her legs refusing to let her rest. Warily, she glances at the still form in the bed beside her. His ribs move softly up and down, the pattern of sleep. Slowly her hand slides down her body until it dips past the waistline of her pants, finding herself already wet.

Images from her dream flash through her head as her fingers work, building up the ball of warmth settled low in her stomach. She resolves to stay as quiet as possible, clamping her lips closed on a moan. When her index finger flicks over her clit her breath hisses through her teeth and she mentally berates herself. As the pace of her fingers increases so does her pulse, breath coming faster and faster.

It does not take her long to work herself up and soon she is coming, hips arched slightly off the bed, lips pressed into a white line as she desperately tries to keep any sounds from escaping. The only one that manages is a half-strangled gasp. When it is over she slumps back to the sheets, a thin sheen of sweat on her forehead, satisfied smile playing at the very corners of her mouth. She closes her eyes and falls asleep within minutes.

When her breathing is steady, Max closes his eyes and does the same.


	8. No Place to Find

Max feels useless.

He watches the former wives go off to their respective jobs for the day, watches Furiosa do the same, and tries to find something worthwhile to occupy his time. He has tried to help every one of them, but their gifts are ill-suited for him and it has ended with him feeling more helpless than when he began.

He tries gardening with the Dag, but he has neither the knowledge nor the patience required for such a task. The Dag suggests he find a better place to work when she grows tired of his restless fidgeting, says he squirms more than the baby strapped to her chest. He takes the hint.

He tries healing the War Boys with Cheedo, but his hands are big and rough, not small and gentle. He suspects he's causing more harm than good and excuses himself from the work, knowing Cheedo is far too kind to push him away herself. Both Cheedo and her waiting patients heave sighs of relief.

He tries teaching the War Pups with Capable, but he doesn't know much more than they do about living in the healing community. He ends up learning far more than he ends up teaching, and he doesn't return for a second day.

He tries directing the building of defenses with Toast, but she already has everything under control and he only gets in the way. She gives him a sympathetic smile and offers to make a job for him but he refuses. If she has to work that hard to create a job, it is not worth doing.

He comes down to his last option. He shadows Furiosa for a day, but he is even less of a politician than a gardener and she makes that clear in no uncertain terms.

There is nothing for him here. He belongs in the desert with the sand and the wind and the relentless, burning sun beating down on him. It is time for him to leave.

The women will kill him if he leaves without saying goodbye and he goes looking for them.

Furiosa passes him, slows, shoves a wheel into his hands. "Supply run to Gastown. You remember the way." It is not a question.

He looks down at the wheel in his hands then back at Furiosa.

She tilts her head to the side and folds her arms over her chest. "Waiting for an invitation?"

It isn't long before he's back on the road that is so familiar to him, driving a supply rig towards the smoke slowly billowing up into the blue sky. He never belonged in the Citadel.

Furiosa sends him out each time he comes back, has him ferrying things all over the place, but he never complains and neither does she. She sends him out with a rig and supplies and waits to see if he returns. He always does.


	9. Cabin Fever Part 1

Furiosa watches the dust trail from Max's rig grow bigger and bigger as he approaches the Citadel. The fingers on her right hand twitch as she feels the hard leather of her wheel underneath them. There are things she misses about her old life. Driving the War Rig, or any vehicle for that matter, is one of them.

He rumbles through the gates and is swarmed by a group of War Boys who immediately begin unloading the vehicle. Some of the War Pups hang around the fringes, watching the older men work. His forehead is smeared with the black grease that Furiosa had grown so used to applying and she feels an unreasonable surge of irritation.

He lifts a hand in greeting to her and weaves his way through the crowd to reach her.

"Trouble?" she asks, voice slightly sharper than she intends.

He shakes his head.

There's never any trouble on his runs, if he's to be believed, but she can see a freshly scabbed wound on the side of his neck and her eyes harden. "What's this?" she asks, reaching up and running her fingers over it.

He shrugs. "Nothing. Run-in with a scavenger."

For an instant Furiosa is back on the Fury Road, three war parties on her tail, fingers curled around the wheel, adrenaline surging through her veins. But that isn't her place now, and she blinks back to the present, throwing Max a frustrated glare.

"Be more careful next time. I need you alive", she snaps.

An eyebrow inches up his face and she knows she's being unreasonable, but she doesn't much care.

She turns on her heel and marches off, back to her life of settling arguments and cleaning up the mess the Immortan has left.

It is only two days before Max is smearing his forehead with grease, climbing into the driver's seat of his rig.

Furiosa has come to see him off, as she always does. She taps his door twice, signaling that everything is in order and he can take off. Her hand lingers on the sun-warmed metal just a fraction of a second too long.

Max pokes his head out of the window and looks at her for a moment. "Could use some help on this run."

She glances sharply up at him. He's never needed help before and his tactic is easy to see through. Most of her wants to climb right up beside him and take back the roads that were once hers, but she has different responsibilities now and she sighs. "I'll find a War Boy."

When she turns to do just that, she is confronted by a wall of wives.

"We'll take care of things", the Dag promises.

"Go", Capable says.

Furiosa doesn't hesitate. She gives them a nod, the relief on her face acting as thanks for their understanding. She starts to walk around to the passenger side door but Max shifts over, gestures to the wheel. Almost reverently, she climbs into the cab, curls her hands around the wheel, shifts the gears.

Black-rimmed eyes meet her own as they eat up the ground, on their way to Gas Town. "Thank you", she says.

Max brushes it away with a shrug. "Didn't feel like driving." He settles back against the door and is asleep within seconds.


	10. Cabin Fever Part 2

They drive through the first night. Max wakes as the sun sets and he and Furiosa exchange places. She falls into an easy sleep and he uses the stars as a guide.

The next day they are not so lucky. Halfway through, when the sun is at the highest point, the rig grinds to a halt and they are forced to make repairs. The sun beats down on them as they swarm over the vehicle, tightening loose bolts and giving the engine a chance to cool down. Neither of them have a chance to rest through the day and, by the time the moon is rising, they feel they should sleep. There is nothing pushing them at a fast pace this time and Furiosa finds it odd to be allowed as much rest as she needs.

They settle on opposite sides of the cabin, Furiosa leaning against the driver side door, Max leaning against the passenger side door. Their feet are a tangled mess in the middle, but they've both slept in far more uncomfortable conditions.

She feels the urge to thank him again, but knows he won't appreciate it. Instead she says only, "It's good to be back out here."

Max grunts in acknowledgement, lets silence fall again. After a few beats he glances back up at her, eyes slightly narrowed. "Worried?" he asks.

Furiosa shakes her head. "About the Citadel? No. The Sisters can take care of things. They don't need me as much as they think they do." The thought is reassuring, but also a touch unsettling. If she doesn't belong in the Citadel where _does_ she belong? Maybe she just doesn't have a place anywhere.

They fall back into a comfortable silence until Furiosa hears Max's breath deepen. She glances out the windshield, looking up at the stars spread out across the blue-black sky. She thinks of the Green Place and of the Immortan, thinks of how nothing lasts long in the desert and hopes the Citadel will be different.

Eventually she settles her head back, runs her eyes over Max's sleeping form once more, and closes them, drifting off.


	11. Cabin Fever Part 3

Trouble starts with a raised bump in the sand. It looks like nothing more than a skinny sandbar, the same as thousands of others they've driven over. Their front wheels hit it, shake the sand off, the line of spikes stretching taut as they rumble over it. It shreds the back half of their front tires and scrapes its way along the underside of the rig before they have a chance of braking.

Two small cars, bristling with spines, race up beside them, wild-eyed drivers crowing in their perceived victory.

Max glances out the passenger side window, sees another car pulling up on that side. Three cars. Two wild-eyes in each. Max reaches for his pistol.

Furiosa urges the rig faster but the shredded tires slow them down. With a frustrated groan she yanks the wheel sideways, sending the truck skidding into one of the cars on the driver's side. There are more spikes on its hubcaps but what the hell, she figures, their tires are already a lost cause.

One of the wild-eyes brings up a shotgun, aims it right at her head.

She presses herself against the steering wheel as Max leans around her, pistol in his hand already firing.

His aim is good and the shotgun tumbles from the man's hands.

The pedal of the rig is flat against the floor and still they're barely able to reach more than 30.

The wild-eye who still remains in the first car is screaming at them, words ripped away by the wind.

A bullet rips through Max's window, buries itself in his shoulder. He clamps his teeth shut on a scream of pain and throws a vicious glare at the wild-eyes in the passenger-side car. Blood starts to soak through his shirt sleeve but he ignores it, aiming and shooting as quickly as he can before the man gets another chance at a shot. His first goes wild, pinging harmlessly against the doorframe. His next one is better and the wild-eye swears as the bullet finds a new home in his right hand.

Furiosa watches Max out of the corner of her eye, doesn't like the look of his arm, doesn't have time to stop and help him. She tugs the rig free from the car and slams into it again, sending it veering into the path of its brother. They both skid to a halt, lost in the cloud of dust they throw up.

The passenger-side car slows and Max watches as they leave it behind. He shrugs painfully out of his jacket, rips a shred off the bottom. Grunting, he ties off his arm, the rough tourniquet halting the slow stream of blood trickling out of his wound.

"Are you-?" Furiosa's question is cut off by a sudden juddering and the rig's speed dips even lower.

Max sticks his head out of the window and glances behind them. "Bastards got our back wheels", he snarls, spotting one of the cars digging its spikes into their back tires.

The other two roar back up to the driver's side window, sending Furiosa ugly grins.

She slams her hand against the wheel, cursing them under her breath. The rig is slowly juddering to a halt, but she locks the pedal in place, reaches into the backseat to pull out the shotgun.

One of the wild-eyes hangs out the window of his car as the driver inches it closer to the side of their rig. He waits until he is almost painted against the metal before jumping, hands clutching at the ridged metal, feet scrambling for purchase on the small ledge. He clings there like a spider as the driver swerves away, falling back behind the other car.

Furiosa whips out of the window and lines up her shot, wanting nothing more than to shoot the bastard right off her rig. A new slew of bullets forces her to duck back in and the wild-eye driver cackles insanely, brandishing his gun.

The rig shudders reluctantly to a halt, engine whining. Furiosa pumps the pedal but the tires skid uselessly on the sand, rubber scraps unable to grab any purchase. She tugs Max down below window level as the wild-eye cars screech to a halt.

They listen as the scavengers exit their cars, bang on the sides of the rig, laugh and crow to each other over what they consider an easy victory. Max clutches the pistol in his hand, Furiosa holds the shotgun in hers.

She faces the driver-side door. Footsteps approach slowly, cautiously. The handle dips, the door starts to open...

Furiosa blows half the man's face off with a shotgun blast, and he falls back into his companion.

Max launches himself out of the passenger-side door, ramming his unhurt shoulder into the wild-eye waiting outside his door. His pistol flashes up, slams down into the scavenger's temple, sends him crumpling to the ground. He's tackled from behind, blinding pain flashing through him as a fist thuds into his bullet wound, gun clattering out of his hands. He goes down, grappling with the wild-eye he wounded before, judging by the blood streaming from his hand.

Furiosa has lost the element of surprise and a wild-eye ducks out from under his newly deformed companion, hand locking around the barrel of the shotgun, yanking it to the side. She cocks her leg up and sends her boot into his face, hearing the satisfying crunch of bone.

He falls away, hands clutched around his nose but another wild-eye springs up almost immediately to take his place, throwing himself on top of her desperately, pinning her underneath him.

The shotgun is crushed between her chest and his, her arms awkwardly bent, giving her no leverage to push him off. She thrashes wildly, trying to wiggle out from under him.

Max drives his elbow backwards, hears the wild-eye gasp for air, feels his grip loosen. He staggers away from the man's clutching, bloodied hands, reaching for the passenger side door of the rig. He can't see Furiosa through the window, can only see a man's heaving body. Two sets of hands lock around his arms and haul him backwards, unbalancing him. The two wild-eyes drag him through the sand, heading for the back end of the rig and, carrying him further away from Furiosa.

Max's shoulder is screaming in agony, black dancing around the edges of his vision. Willing himself not to pass out he surges forward, straining against their grip. Both of his opponents are weakened, one with a near-useless hand, one with a concussion at the very least from his sudden and violent introduction to Max's pistol, and he breaks free, thudding down onto his knees. He scrambles forward, grasping hands closing around his gun.

One of the wild-eyes launches forwards, slamming his boot down on Max's wrist, forcing him to let go. He reaches down, plucks up the gun, shoves it under Max's jaw. A dark bruise is already spreading over his temple. "C'mere", he growls, no pity in his voice.

Max is ushered around the back of the rig until they come into sight of a man leaning against the other side, hands clapped over his nose, blood dripping down his chin.

"Snaggle's on the bitch", he whines, voice high-pitched and nasally.

The wild-eye with the bloodied hand heads for the cab of the rig as the man holding the pistol on Max starts dragging him back towards their cars.

Max goes limp, lets himself be carried back until they reach the first car. The wild-eye half turns to open the door, his attention slipping from his captive. Max makes his move, slamming his foot down on the man's instep and seizing his wrist, twisting until he hears a strangled scream mixed with the definitive snap of bone.

The man with a broken nose's eyes widen and he reaches into his jacket, fumbling for something. His hands close around a long, cylindrical object, tug it and piece of flint out as Max struggles to peel the other wild-eye's fingers off the gun. He strikes the flint against the side of the rig, lights the signal flare up, starts to hold it high.

Max's hand closes around the gun and he turns, aiming in one fluid motion. He fires.

Too late, he notices the trail of guzzoline seeping from the gas tank, punctured by the line of spikes. Too late, he sees the flare blaze to life.

The wild-eye drops, flare falling with him. The guzzoline ignites.

There is a second's delay from the time when the fire reaches the gas tank to when it blows. Furiosa's face flashes in Max's mind.

His world is fire.

When he wakes it is with blistered skin, bullet wound sending shooting pains through his shoulder. The one remaining wild-eye lies beside him, unmoving. Dry-mouthed, Max winds his hand around his throat and doesn't let go until he's sure the man will never take another breath.

There's no point searching the wreckage. Max does so anyways.


	12. Cabin Fever Part 4

It takes four days for Max to admit she's gone. Four days in which he painstakingly searches each bump in the sand, each scrap of jagged, burning metal for a sign of the woman he's lost.

He barely sleeps, terrified of what he might see if he closes his eyes. Exhaustion forces him to face it on the third night and he jerks awake thrice, each time hearing Furiosa whisper 'Remember me' into his ear. Each time he expects to find her sitting next to him. She isn't.

He searches the wild-eye's body for a key, finds one, remembers his hands around his throat, choking the life out of him. He gets in the car and drives away.

The Citadel looms over him. He can feel the walls laughing at him, whispers running through the stone about how he even managed to drag the Immortan back but he has nothing of Furiosa.

The guards almost shoot him as he drives up.

He ditches the car outside the gate, walks in, is surrounded by his living guilt.

"Furiosa?" Cheedo's voice.

"Where is she?" The Dag's voice.

"Max, what's happened?" Capable's voice.

Toast pales. "She's gone", she whispers, words swimming through sandpaper to escape her throat.

Max nods. "Died fighting." It is the only comfort he has to offer them. It is far from enough.

Their world is upside down.

Capable blames him, at first, says he should have protected her.

The Dag whispers prayers to herself, daughter clinging to her fingers, looking up at her mother with wet eyes.

Toast forces herself out of her grief and does what she can to prepare the Citadel for life without the Liberator.

It is not long before the others join her.

Cheedo tends to Max with gentle hands.

He makes no sound, even as she digs the bullet out of his shoulder, burns out the infection she finds there. His pain is his penance. As soon as she is finished he stands, inclines his head in a poor excuse for a farewell.

She presses her lips together and gives him a sympathetic look but lets him walk out without a word.

Max leaves the Citadel. He never comes back.

His nightmares do.

Author's Note: And we've reached the end! I hope you guys have liked it and had as much fun reading it as I did writing it.


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